The Least She Can Do
by BarnabusBi11ingsley
Summary: A very short vignette that focuses on Christine Chapel's feeling directly following the events of "Return to Tomorrow". I feel like every trek fan has their own take on how she feels behind the scenes, but I think mine may be fairly unique. Let me know what you think, and be honest. I'm practicing on short stories for now, but I need feedback in order to improve. Thank you.


In the darkness of the broom closet she shared with Nurse Waverly, Christine pressed the heels of her hands against her mouth to keep the sob she was fighting back from escaping. Her bunkmate was moving about in the common area of their room, going about her morning routine as their schedules were arranged correspondingly. Soon she would be off to sickbay and Christine would be able to cry audibly, but for now, she must appear to be asleep. It was, after all, her nighttime by the ship's clock.

Guilt. Shame. Greif. She was battered ceaselessly by these painful emotions.

 _Murderer._

No! She protested, moaning softly and hoping her roommate mistook it for a low snore.

 _You enjoyed it._

No! That's wrong.

 _You wanted him dead._

She clasped her hand to her mouth as she choked on another gut-wrenching sob. Again, the memory rolled over her like a frigid wave of crouching on the floor in the briefing room on deck six and staring down at Captain Kirk's lifeless body, while Dr. McCoy's tricorder confirmed what their eyes had already told them. When she saw that there were no life signs registering, despite administering an adrenaline shot, she felt…..satisfied. She felt a sense of accomplishment and horrendous pride at her actions.

She remembered thinking, at the time, how pleased Hanoch would be with her. She'd carried out his orders perfectly. And so maybe he wouldn't hurt her so much. Next time.

Shudders wracked her body at that thought. It was this thought, more than anything else that caused the crushing guilt. She'd been so relieved, so hopeful to gain Hanoch's mercy by murdering Captain Kirk. Eager, even.

She had wanted to do it. Hanoch had wanted it, and so she had wanted it. He had made her want a lot of things she didn't want otherwise. She'd fought him with everything she had, but the sheer force of his mind had been like a boot crushing a hapless ant. It would be madness to expect the ant to be able to resist.

By the time Hanoch's control of the Enterprise had been secured she could no longer tell his wishes from hers, his ambitions from hers. The supreme narcissist that he was, he had molded his ideal woman after his own morals and ideals and removed her capacity for individual thought.

In the end it had taken their combined will to break his control, hers and Spock's. Their consciousness had so completely intertwined by that point on the bridge that neither one could tell the other from themselves. Without Sargon's help, they would have been hopelessly fused. The separation had been the strangest sensation either had ever experienced. Like being pulled through a sieve.

By the time she returned to her cabin she felt as though she'd lived a hundred years. Patiently, she waited to slip into madness, which she reasoned could be the only result of the trial that the last three days had been to her mind, body and spirit.

But the relief of insanity had not come. And she found herself unable to sleep, replaying the scene in the deck six briefing room again and again. The guilt hammered away at her each time, and she became aware on some level that she was deliberately punishing herself.

She'd spent the entire debriefing unable to make eye contact with Captain Kirk, a dagger of shame piercing her soul every time he addressed her. After all that he'd done for her, risking his career so she didn't have to face the shame of her fiancé's madness becoming public, keeping secrets from even his closest friend, for her. She had killed him to save her own skin.

That fact sat like a stone in her stomach all day. She had been unable to choke down dinner, and had instead left the mess hall to go directly to her quarters. She had no friends on this ship who would miss her anyways.

And there she had remained. She feigned tiredness and went to bed early, turning herself towards the wall to escape her roommate's prying eyes. Now however, her roommate was finally gone, and she was able to unclench her insides and let loose the tears that had been waiting. She cried as she hadn't since returning from Exo III, officially widowed before she had even married. Sleep would be a long time coming, she knew. And she had to be up at 0500 hours for her first watch.

But she would be there. Anywhere, anytime he needed her. She owed him that much, if not from the first time, then certainly she owed him for this. He would disagree, she knew, which was exactly the problem. He had certainly proven that when he'd shown himself to be willing to sacrifice his command for her comfort.

This was the inescapable duty that bound her to the Enterprise despite all reason. She would have been long gone by now if not for James T. Kirk, and his all sacrificing sense of duty and compassion.

As long as he kept putting his life on the line, looking out for those around him, she would be here, looking out for him. She owed him that much.


End file.
